Revelations(31)

“But will you?”

I refuse to rise to his bait, refuse to give in to his machinations, or to let my thoughts lead me down that unnavigable avenue, placing a mental roadblock on that particular road. Not that it helps, of course. The damage has been done. “I’ll never choose any path which leads to you,” I reply honestly, “and away from my Father…”

“Even if it leads toward Judas?”

I keep my voice even, showing extraordinary control, I feel, considering the nature of our discussion, as I reply, “I will not listen to you, Satan. Your temptations are as nothing to me. You cannot win me. Give up the fight, once and for all.” There, that should suffice for now. I have not weakened. And I shall not.

But apparently he’s not done with me yet. The scenario changes once again, and now we both lie upon a rather large round bed with flaming red blankets and matching satin sheets. I find them rather lurid and vulgar, myself. “Aren’t you tired of this game yet?” I shake my head, disgusted with his mind bent. “I will not lie with you, no matter how you wish it. Seek your pleasure elsewhere, foul demon…” I find myself suddenly wrapped in his arms, his lips caressing my ear. I’m impervious to his wiles, of course; he affects me not with his blandishments, although his breath is warm and far too close for my taste. And rather vile, although there are some, I’m sure, that might actually consider him attractive. I am not one of those.

“What if I told you I wish to fuck him myself, what would you say to that?” The question takes me by surprise. He has never asked me directly, although I know he has propositioned Jude countless times over the years. To no avail.

“Why would I say anything? Ask him. Or is it that you already know what he’ll say?”

“And it means nothing to you?” His voice probes into my psyche and his hands are rubbing my chest, as I pull away from him.

“I don’t wish you to harm any of them, is that so surprising?” He only chuckles, in that horribly nasty way he has, rolling over and trapping me beneath him, lying heavily atop me.

“So if I tell you I long to fuck him so hard it’ll push all thoughts of you from his head, then that’s fine with you, as long as it’s consensual, yes?” Damn him, damn him, damn him. I struggle against him, but the devil is very strong.

“Release me,” I demand, “our conversation is done. I have no more to say to you. Do what you will.” As long as it doesn’t include touching Jude.

He continues to writhe against me, and I can feel how very hard he is, and he disgusts me very greatly. Not because he is a man, but because of who he is. I push against him, determined not to give in. After a few moments, he relents and releases me, and immediately I roll away from him to the edge of the bed, gathering my thoughts and my breath. And then the illusion he has created about us dissolves and we are where we began.

“I must go now, sweet Jesus,” he says with a smile that on someone else might have been considered charming. “But never fear, I shall return. Tell Judas to expect me.” And before I can respond, he disappears into the night once more.

I should return to my sleep now, rest my body as well as my mind, but I find that is not quite as easy as it sounds. Thoughts are churning, hopes making themselves manifest within me that I know I must push aside as selfish. My desires don’t enter into this; there is a greater good to be considered, a bigger battle to be fought. Too many are counting upon me, how can I let them down?

My energy spent, for the moment, for his conversations tend to be rather draining, I fall upon the chill grass, hugging my legs, rocking slightly, as if seeking comfort in the motion, unwilling to rise yet. I cannot still my inner voice, which speculates on how it would be if I were anyone else, would I be free to seek…to win…to hold…his love? And do I deserve it?

I squeeze my eyes shut against the night, and become lost in dreams of what might have been.





Chapter Eighteen: Judas


I dream of water.

Sometimes it’s a trickling stream, other times it takes the form of a raging river. Sometimes it’s a glacial sea populated by translucent ice floes with rainbows trapped within their cold depths. Other times it takes the shape of a swampy bayou, where trailing verdure hangs veiled over the murky depths, and a somnolent stillness pervades the air.

Water is the constant in each scenario. There is always water in some way, shape, or form.

And there is Jesus. He and I are always together, always talking, always happy.

Sometimes we kiss, but not always. It doesn’t matter. We lie in one another’s arms, and I’m flooded with the most marvelous sense of fulfillment, of completion. Of inner peace. He always has that effect upon me. Always.